


I got you, you got me

by galaxylove



Category: TWICE (Band)
Genre: AU, Attempted Sexual Assault, F/F, Fighting, Medieval sort of setting, Mina and Sana are sisters, OT9 fic centered around SaHyo, POVs from everyone, Princess Sana, Royalty, Sworn guard Jihyo, Violence, different kingdoms though, likely gonna have like 15 chapters by the end, slowburn, there's like 4 princesses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-03-25 05:06:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13827105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galaxylove/pseuds/galaxylove
Summary: Sana will do anything to save the people she loves - even as far as throwing away her freedom to give her loved ones even a chance at safety.A SaHyo royalty AU.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys,  
> it's been a while, but I've been trying desperately to flesh out this fic idea for the past two months. You could call this my fic baby, if you would, and I'm glad I finally get to share at least the prologue with you.  
> Hope you enjoy :)

 

 

_**Tzuyu** _

 

   Smoke.

 

  Thick, black and acrid, curling in the hallway and seeping into her lungs to mix with the resolute fear lodged in the back of her throat. It clung to every part of her body as she ran, eyes shut blindly with an unbreakable grip on her mother’s hand as they moved past the sound of swords clashing and the cries of dying men. The crackle of the fire roared louder with every stumbling step she took, clenching her mother’s fingers as though she would die if she let go.

 

  She might.

 

  Taking a chance, she blinked away the tears from her stinging eyes and looked around her, seeing the devilish dance of flames casting shadows down the east hallway. The noises of battle resounded from the entrance, ferocious shouts and roars of desperate soldiers with the realisation that the swing of their sword in this very moment would likely be their last.

 

  An ambush.

 

  It was an _ambush_.

 

  Tzuyu had been startled from her sleep in the dead of night, her mother’s fearful face looming over her as she tugged her from the warmth of her bed frantically. She’d been confused, obediently obeying the silent panic beginning to instill itself in her bones as familiar fingers wrapped around her wrist in an ironclad grip.

 

  And she ran.

 

  She flinched at the gleaming sword swinging at her from the side, almost collapsing to the floor when a soldier she’s known since she was a child lunges from across the hallway to intercept the blade in time. Steel clashes bare inches above her head, and she scrambles desperately on the charcoal blackened floor to get back to her feet. Her mother is pulling her again, more frantic than before and Tzuyu daren’t look over her shoulder to see the fate of the man fending off against three assailants closing in.

 

  They reach the servants exit, her mother throwing herself against the thick, gnarled wooden door and spilling out into the open air. They swallow greedily, filling their lungs with the night air and coughing exuberantly around the smoke tightening in their throats.

 

  Tzuyu hears people crying out here, looking up to see the servants hurriedly trying to escape through the back entrance of the courtyard. The fighting has yet to breach outside, and her mother slams the thick wooden door shut behind them, soldiers slamming a sturdy beam in place to give them time.

 

  “Mama,” Tzuyu cries out, voice weak and trembling with tears as she reaches out to grasp at the fabric of her mother’s dress. She’s wrenched into a firm embrace, knees scraping against the rough stone floor and their body’s are shaking with fear and uncertainty - slim hands pressing her head into her mother’s chest as if she could protect her if they stayed here like this. She inhales deeply, can smell the scent of her mother’s jasmine perfume somewhere underneath the overwhelming mask of smoke, and the tears in her eyes finally spill as heavy sobs wrack through her chest.

 

  “Tzuyu, my baby,” her mother cries, voice cracking as she presses kisses all over the expanse of her daughter’s face, “you have to go.”

 

  Her hands don’t stop moving, fingers mapping the planes of Tzuyu’s face, threading urgently through the strands of her hair, as though she were committing every part of her daughter to memory. It was starting to feel like a farewell, so Tzuyu tightened the grip of her fist clenched in the fabric of her mother’s dress.

 

  “What of you? What of father?” Tzuyu’s head whips around to look at the northernmost tower, only catches the briefest glimpse of the flames beginning to lick their way up greedily before soft hands pull her face back to look into red-rimmed eyes.

 

  “You have to _go._ ” Her mother repeats, voice hitching on the last word as a sob tears from her throat. A cart pulls up beside them; it’s small - filled halfway with rags and old cloths but the bed itself could realistically only fit one person. A shard of ice embeds itself in the inferno warring in Tzuyu’s stomach, the purest form of dread spreading through her veins.

 

  “Mama, _no_ ,” Tzuyu cries again, hands desperately grasping at her mother’s face, as though if she tried enough she could save her too, “You can come with me, we can fit I swear, if we just-“

 

  The heavy wooden door slams against the beam, the dread-filled noise echoing into the courtyard intrusively. She hears someone scream, hears the frightened cry of a child and the fearful reassurances of a mother as they clasped the small body further into their trembling frame.

 

  “Tzuyu,” her mother begins, tears spilling freely down her face as desperation seeps into her voice, “ _please.”_

 

  She doesn’t respond, nodding wordlessly as her mother begins to push her numb body into the back of the cart. She lays there, watches as her mother covers her still form with rags and cloth until she’s almost completely covered from view.

 

  “Tzuyu,” Her mother smiles tenderly down at her, face streaked with tears and smeared with blackened streaks of charcoal. She hastily pulls the ring off of her finger, the family crest showing proudly as it’s tucked tightly into Tzuyu’s outstretched palm, “Live for us.”

 

  “I will.” Tzuyu declares, forcing the sobs in her throat down, voice _almost_ stable enough to sound strong.

 

  “I love you so much, my precious star.” Her mother’s hand cups her face gently, and Tzuyu presses insistently into the embrace, cherishing the contact for the last time. Deft fingers are swiping away the tears still streaming down her cheeks, and then they’re gone, Tzuyu watching helplessly as the familiar form of her mother disappears and the cart begins to roll shakily out of the courtyard. She tries to call out, tries to shout ‘ _I love you_ ’ back, but the words get strangled by all the smoke curling in her lungs, and she falls back further into the cloth helplessly as coughs overtake her weak form.

 

  She hears the muffled crack of wood splintering as the wagon pulls out, the accompany tell tale clash of steel and the unadulterated shrieks of horror to go with it. There’s coarse shouting in a foreign tongue she barely recognises, mixed with the desperate shouts of the few banner men she saw in the courtyard rallying in formation for one last time to protect the queen.

 

 

* * *

 

 

  

   She doesn’t know how much time has passed. The only sound is the tired squeak of the old wheels turning rhythmically on the wagon as they finally slow their pace, far enough away from the palace and the subsequent danger to afford themselves a small rest. The man steering the cart looks down at her restlessly, face downcast with sympathy and what might be pity, Tzuyu thinks. She thinks he goes to speak at her at one point, mouth opening continuously only to snap shut and turn his attention back to the dark forest path.

 

  She burrows herself deeper into the cloths and rags surrounding her, curled up tightly into a little ball, trying desperately to make herself smaller. The ring in her palm is warm, clenched in her grip as her hands are clasped tightly to her chest.

 

  The night air is cool, a subtle chill beginning to set in her bones through the sheer fabric of her nightgown. She shivers subconsciously, the movement hardly noticeable past the sobs that had been wracking her body since her mother’s face disappeared from sight.

 

  She holds a futile hope that her cries go unnoticed, despite the full, heart wrenching sobs that tear from her throat even as she bites down on her own hand to muffle the noise. She can hardly hear herself anyway; can only hear the haunting clash of steel against steel drilling a merciless rhythm in her head, can only hear the roar of the flames inching closer and closer, and the screams of dying men echoing around her.

 

  The night is still, disturbed only by the unimpressive cart shifting slowly through the overgrown forest, silence punctuated by the squeak of old wheels and the desperate sobs of a child who had just lost her home and everything she had known.

 

  The night is a silent witness, offering only the cover of darkness to let her grieve.

 

  And she cries.


	2. Return Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It had always been this way; Sana protecting Mina with everything her body could offer, and usually more than she could manage. It was part of being the first born, of being an older sister and having someone to protect and call your own. Her father had always told her as such, and Sana had never had reason to doubt him for as long as she could remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey what up, im galaxylove and i never learned how to discipline myself to stick to a set time table for writing

 

**_Sana_ **

 

 

 

 “The Southern Kingdom has fallen.”

 

  The heavy words dropped straight into the pit of her stomach, crashing and churning in tempestuous waves along with the bile that was threatening to rise up her throat. The fragile porcelain cup almost slipped from her grip but trembling fingers tightened before it could, setting it unsteadily on the sturdy table instead.

 

  She looked out to the gardens, eyes sweeping the vast expanse of the landscape and the impenetrable wall on the outer perimeter. She’d cursed it’s very existence as a child, sought many ways to escape the grounds without the notice of her father or the guards - sometimes she’d drag Mina with her, end up getting both of the girls in trouble and the cold shoulder from her younger sister for a few days. The memories made her smile, if only a slight quirk of the lips, and she sent a silent prayer to whichever gifted architect made the structure so impenetrable centuries before she had even been born.

 

  “What of the Royal family?” She responds after a few taut moments of silence, punctuated only by the calls of the birds and the rustle of the wind playing in the branches of the fruit tree next to them. Her father doesn’t respond immediately, and she steels her stomach for the inevitable news he was about to deliver.

 

  “Gone.” He rumbles heavily, as if that single word took more of a toll on him than all of his years as King. Maybe it did, Sana laments, as she turns her head to look at her father and sees him looking beyond the wall pensively, with an age-old weariness set in the defined lines of his face. He looks older than she’s ever seen him look before, playing absently with the loose, worn silver ring around his forefinger.

 

  Whenever she had asked where he had gotten it from, he would smile fondly; remembering days long since passed and summers spent laughing with old friends when their faces weren’t marred by age and responsibility, pulling young Sana closer into a warm embrace and gently stroking combat calloused fingers through the strands of her hair. He would say it was a gift, a promise between a group of young boys to always remember themselves and each other.

 

  His movements become harsher, more erratic as he twists the ring around his finger again and again until he lets go, resting a shaking hand on the arm of his chair and leaning forward to reach for his half-empty cup. Sana realises she finally has a definitive answer to her question in the hard set jut of her father’s jaw, the barely restrained fury in his eyes as he bought the rim of the cup to his lips.

 

  “What of the princess?” She asked desperately, holding onto the last vestiges of distressed hope. She thinks of the tanned, beautiful face of the young girl, the bright gleam of her teeth as her face would split into a wide, unrestrained grin at whatever silly joke Sana had prepared for her, or the soft, attentive warmth in her eyes when she listened to Mina recite the poem she had most taken a fancy to recently. She thinks of a summer spent in the Southern palace where the hallways echoed with high-pitched childish giggles, and she ran through the dew soaked gardens with Tzuyu and Mina close behind her, wearing only their nightgowns and their socks much to the chagrin of the palace maids desperately trying to chase them down.

 

  A rough, weather worn hand lays itself on top of her own, engulfing her hand and grasping at her fingers to tug them into the palm of his own. He doesn’t answer, just strokes the soft skin on the back of her hand with a rugged, calloused thumb, and she swallows down the thick wave of nausea that crashed back into her stomach with a renewed vigor.

 

     “War is coming.” His voice is low, a profound rumble from somewhere deep in his chest and Sana shudders at the words, instinctively moves closer into the warmth of his embrace. The chair scrapes as he stands, positioning himself in front of his eldest daughter and sinking to his knees on the old, cobbled stone of the conservatory. He looks up at her, face contorted with the effort to keep the tears out of his eyes and Sana feels her own vision clouding as he takes both of her hands in a soft, pleading grip.

 

  “Sana, my love, my sunshine.” He croaks, throat closing as he chokes around syllables too hard to pronounce, words too difficult to say. There’s a wetness trailing on the surface of her cheeks, and she finally finds the strength to look into his eyes.

 

  “The Northern Kingdom have offered us an alliance.” He states, thumbs sweeping a soothing arc on the backs of her hands. His head falters, staring at the cold, stone floor instead of his daughter. “I know I told you I’d never force you into anything, that I’d never make you or Mina do anything you didn’t want to as long as I was King.”

 

  Sana’s stomach sinks even lower, embedded deep in the very stone of the floor as she watches the strong, stoic man in front of her crumble and fall apart at her feet.

 

  “A marriage.” He whispers, dropping one of Sana’s hands to wipe at the tears threatening to fall. “They’ve offered an alliance if one of my daughters will marry the eldest prince.”

 

  Her entire life, both her mother and father encouraged both of their daughters to find love in their own time. She was lucky, incredibly so - she knew of the arranged marriages of noble families, knew the loveless relationships they found themselves in and the despairing tears in her friends eyes as she watched them slowly dwindle away to live with their betrothed by no choice of their own.

 

  “ _One_ of your daughters?” She whispers back, thinks of her younger sister who is likely tucked away in the library thumbing slowly through the works of some renowned poet Sana had never even heard of. Her father nods slowly, and Sana’s heart sinks at the thought of Mina being sent away to a foreign country to live the rest of her life as some faceless prince’s wife.

 

  “I knew you’d never forgive me if I asked Mina first,” her father begins, a humourless chuckle slipping into the painful silence surrounding them both.

 

  “You’re right,” she laughs back, sliding out of her own chair to kneel on the floor in front of her father. The stone is cold, sending a chill straight into her knees as she sinks down to the floor to be eye-level with him. “I would never forgive you if you’d have asked her first.”

 

  Mina was kind, selfless. She was the picture perfect poised princess that any king could have only dream of having, demure and quiet and more importantly, well-loved by the people. The Eastern Kingdom adored their youngest princess, as much as they did the eldest princess but Sana had always been aware of the fact that there was something just a little more… regal, and refined about the younger girl.

 

  She fit the mold perfectly. Sana was also aware that she would throw her well being away in a moment for the sake of her family and her kingdom, spurred by the blessed sort of naivety that still clung to her adolescent mind.

 

  “Don’t tell her.” She demands, voice stern and firm as she reaches to grasp her father’s hands in her own. There are dried tear tracks on her face, their presence long since gone and she tilts her head to wipe them away with the sleeve of her dress. The maids would sigh exasperatedly when they catch sight of Sana, pristine white dress crumpled from her time sat on the floor and coated in a layer of dust and dirt, and she treasures the fleeting feeling of amusement that ran through her mind at the thought of the head maid's face.

 

  She’d have to start treasuring every memory of this place, she accepts with a weighted sigh, staring into the eyes of the king and the man who had raised her.

 

  “Don’t tell her.” She repeats, voice steady and unwavering as she raises a hand to cup his cheek. Tears are spilling freely down his face , features beginning to crumple as his lip quivers with the effort to not cry out.

 

  “Don’t even give her the choice. I’ll do it.” She signs the letter of her own demise, giving her life away to a nameless prince in a kingdom she knew little about.

 

  She feels strong arms pull her into his chest, soft cries of her name and whispered ‘I love you’s spilling over trembling lips like an unrelenting wave. Rough, calloused fingers cup the back of her head desperately, running through the strands of her hair as her father echoes a mantra of apologies over and over, and she slowly closes her eyes and presses against the warm expanse of his chest as she finally lets the unshed tears fall.

 

  She inhales deeply, hands fisted tightly in the lapel of his shirt as she takes in his scent, the smell of home and everything she had cherished and loved for the past nineteen years of her life. She thinks of Mina, and mother, and all of the people in the castle whose fates depended upon her.

 

  It was an easy choice to make, but her heart is heavy - and she cries. In that moment, scrabbling distraughtly at the material of her father’s robes as he engulfs her in his embrace and she chokes on the fear crawling up her throat, she looks out to the garden and the rolling landscape of her kingdom beyond the wall.

 

  And she cries.

 

 

* * *

 

 

**_Jihyo_ **

 

 

 

  Her footsteps echo as she hurries through the corridor, steel-capped boots clacking rhythmically against the wooden floor with every lengthy stride she takes. The sun has barely broken over the horizon, muted rays peeking through the gaps in the shutters of the unopened windows and casting distorted shadows against the oak panelling of the walls as she moved with haste. Her hand rested easily on the hilt of the sword at her waist, a habit drilled into her from years of training and one that she appreciated greatly as she walks, taking a familiar sort of comfort from the intimate grooves of the pommel as it hit against her palm with every step.

 

  She stands outside the ornate door of the princesses bedroom, knows she won't be awake at this hour of the early morning and forgoes knocking as a formality. Gripping the handle, she shoves a sturdy shoulder against the thick wood and it creaks open, a loud crack of noise in the silence of dawn and she hears a muted yell of fright from inside.

 

  “Who goes there?” Demanded the fearful voice, and despite the heavy news she came bearing Jihyo finds herself smiling in spite of it.

 

  “Fear not, noble princess,” she grins roguishly, stepping into the darkness of the room confidently and ignoring the disgruntled girl staring at her incredulously from her bed, “it’s only me.”

 

  She stops in front of the heavy curtains, yanks the material open and allows the growing sunlight to spill into the room. She hears a pained hiss from behind her, turning around to rest her eyes on the princess burrowing herself under the thick confines of her duvet to avoid the light.

 

  “What in the ever loving fuck are you doing in here?” She hears, words muted by the restraint of the duvet but she could distinguish the irritation in her tone. She doesn’t bother to stifle the roll of her eyes, watches the way the lump on the bed moves lazily as her boots click against the floor with each step she takes closer.

 

  “Language, princess.” She chastises, tearing the duvet off of the other girl and grinning at the shrill shriek the action produced. Formality and royal procedure isn’t a thing that exists between them, considering Jihyo had basically been raised alongside the girl swatting at her arm with childish, lazy swipes. “You know what your father would say if he overheard such foul, coarse language spill from your mouth.”

 

  Nayeon huffs, rolls her eyes perfectly and sneers at Jihyo in response.

 

  “Father isn’t here and _you_ shouldn’t be either.” She retorts, throwing herself back onto her mattress and trying to bury herself deep within it. She sighs heavily, all of the fight and frustration leaving her body in one, heavy breath.

 

  “I suppose you have something important to tell me?” She huffs again, turning her head to peer over her shoulder at the younger girl watching her bemusedly. “If not, I swear to all that is holy-”

 

  She halts mid-sentence, noticing the solemn expression that had overtaken Jihyo’s face. She falters; mouth hanging open, speechless as the other girl perches on the edge of her mattress, leaning towards her at the dip of weight.

 

  “The Southern Kingdom has fallen.” Jihyo begins, palm resting on Nayeon’s knee. Whether it was to reassure the older girl or give herself some stability, she wasn’t sure, and she starts to run her hand along her knee soothingly. Nayeon gasps, loud and authentic as she brings both hands to cover her mouth.

 

  “War is coming.” She announces, face overcome with reluctant acceptance as a plethora of confusion and fear plays out on the older girls’ features.

 

  “Will there be an alliance with the East?” Nayeon asks, taking the little information she’d been given and churning it over in her head. Jihyo raised her brows at the correct assumption, though she shouldn’t have been surprised.

 

  Nayeon was bright, far brighter than anyone else in the castle gave her credit for. Her mind was built for war strategy and political maneuvers, every decision calculated and sharp and Jihyo so desperately wished that the king would make use of her talents one day.

 

  Instead Nayeon hid behind a sheer veneer of vanity and arrogance, a flawless mask worn everyday in front of the king to fool him into think she was a conceited and superficial princess - no more, no less. If she were given the opportunity; Nayeon would make a fine ruler, far better than her father who, despite his good intentions, was often blindsided by his incessant need to gain power.

 

  They would also have to learn to reign in her temper, and perhaps control her crass language, but other than that Jihyo had full faith in her long-term friend.

 

  “There will be,” Jihyo confirms, coughing into her hand, “however,”

 

  “Oh, of _course_ there’s a ‘however’. No go on, do continue. What convoluted, ridiculous plan has that man conceived now?”

 

  She smiles in spite of herself. If anybody knew the king, it was the girl in front of her.

 

  “However,” Jihyo continues, trying to wipe the small smile Nayeon had painted on her face, “there will be a marriage with the East. It will consolidate an alliance and one of the princesses will be coming up to the North to live in the castle before the ceremony.”

 

  Nayeon rolls her eyes again, shuffling around on the mattress to sit next to the younger girl, dangling her bare legs off the side of the bed.

 

  “Greedy bastard.” She mutters, and Jihyo hums complacently. Nayeon lets out a mirthless laugh, leaning her head on Jihyo’s shoulder.

 

  “We are going to war, and that man still finds a way to further increase his grasp on power.”

 

  Her voice is barely a murmur in the early wake of dawn, scratchy with the remnants of sleep as she murmurs against the material of Jihyo’s shirt.

 

  “Jeongin is still a child.” She sighs heavily, hand running clumsily down the length of Jihyo’s arm to rest in her palm, fingernails scraping lightly against the hardened skin there.

 

  “If I recall, your father also had plans to marry you at a similar age.” Jihyo muses, lips quirked up in a small smile at the aftermath of the decision. Nayeon hums against her shoulder and Jihyo can feel the imprint of her smile she doesn’t bother to hide against her shirt.

 

  “That went well for him, didn’t it?” Nayeon laughs, the sound short and sharp as she presses more heavily against the younger girl.

 

  Jihyo thinks back to seven years ago, when she was about eleven and Nayeon was on the cusp of turning fourteen. She remembers the inhumane tantrum the older girl had thrown when her father announced the visitation of a powerful noble house so they could seek his daughter’s hand in marriage for their son, and the ungodly shriek that she had heard all the way from the training yard when the king announced that his decision was final.

 

  Jihyo hums in amusement, the corners of her lips curling up into a smile.

 

  “How long did it take him to repair his relationship with that noble house?”

 

  “Oh,” Nayeon chuckles lightly, untangling herself from Jihyo’s side to fall back against her mattress in a lazy stretch, “about four years, give or take. They were really quite offended for some bizarre reason.”

 

  “ _Riiiiiight_ ,” Jihyo drawls, not even bothering to mask the several layers of sarcasm coating her tone, “it had _nothing_ to do with the scathing insults you hurled at their entire lineage over the dining table.”

 

  “Nothing at all.” Nayeon acquits, looking up at Jihyo with a sly lilt to her eyes.

 

  They’re both still for a moment, drinking in the silence and mulling over thoughts in their head. It was easy, familiar, a learned sense of comfort that bore testament to the years they had grown by each other's side.

 

  “That’s not the only thing you’re here for, is it?” Nayeon inquires defeatedly, eyes scanning the younger girl and taking in her training attire. She groaned, hands stretching up to rub the sleep out of her eyes in exasperation.

 

  Jihyo smiled good naturedly, resting a hand on Nayeon’s knee.

 

  “The king thinks it’s a good idea for every member of the palace be a little more… trained, to be ready in the event of an attack.”

 

  “But that’s what you’re here for!” Nayeon whined, fists thumping repeatedly against her pillow. “You’re my guard! My loyal sword! My sworn protector!”

 

  Jihyo allowed her to monologue dramatically, watching her antics with a bemused smile as her fingers drummed patiently on the girls’ leg.

 

  “You’re not wrong,” She begins, cutting the older girl off before she could launch into another nostalgic tale of Jihyo’s protective nature, “but there’s a chance I’m not always going to be here.”

 

  Nayeon snorts.

 

  “That’s horse shit, you’re always going to be stuck with me.”

 

  Jihyo winces at her words, as if an arrow had pierced straight through her chest, and she clutches dramatically at the invisible shaft, unable to hold back her giggles at the affronted expression on the princesses face.

 

  “Sweet talk me all you want Nabongs, you’re not getting out of this.”

 

  The older girl flipped herself over dramatically, muffling her scream into the mattress as Jihyo wrapped a sturdy arm around her waist and hoisted her off the bed.

 

  Nayeon glared daggers the entire time; when Jihyo had to practically pull her clothes onto the non-compliant girls’ body herself, when the older girl was half-dragged into the training yard when most of the palace still lay in their beds, and _especially_ when Jihyo had the older girl flat on her back with a training staff to her throat for the fourth time in a little under two minutes.

 

  “ _Gods_ , I’m going to make you regret this Park Jihyo.”

 

  She laughs, the sound rich and hearty and echoing across the still empty grounds, reaching out to pull Nayeon up once more. The girl opposite her takes up her stance again, a little more positioned and focused than the time before, and there’s a steely sort of determination in her eyes.

 

  Nayeon moves and Jihyo anticipates, bringing her staff up to intercept the overhead strike before it could make contact with her skull. A harsh crack resounds in Jihyo’s ear at the sound, and she barely has time to react before Nayeon’s sending another strike her way.

 

  It ends the same way, with Nayeon flat on her back in the dust and Jihyo’s staff at her throat, but this time both of their chests are heaving with exertion and Nayeon swipes away Jihyo’s staff with her own, picking herself back up to start another round again.

 

  It goes on, the rhythmic clacking of two staffs striking against the other in the early hours of the morning, and Nayeon ends up on the ground more times than Jihyo can count, but she gets back up just as many.

 

  There’s something brewing in the bottom of Jihyo’s stomach, simmering uneasily ever since the sun began to rise and she realised war was on the horizon, but she ignores the feeling in favour of eyes burning with determination and revels in each jarring strike against the staff in her hands.

 

  And she smiles.

 

 

* * *

 

 

_**Sana** _

 

 

 

   “I still can’t believe you’re going.”

 

  Her sister's’ voice is soft, a resigned whisper that weighs more heavily on her shoulders than she can manage. Her hands still momentarily in the open drawer, before resuming their movements to pluck the small, black hair pin she had been originally searching for.

 

  She snaps the drawer shut swiftly, turning slowly so she could take her time to craft a reassuring smile for Mina’s benefit.

 

  (It was something she found herself doing a lot recently, and she finds this mask is starting to slip more easily into place with practice.)

 

  “Neither can I, Minari.” She admits, crossing the room with the hairpin in hand to stand in front of the younger girl. Her sister’s perched on the edge of her bed, posture stiff like an animal ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble, and Sana’s smiles again.  

 

  She runs a hand through her sister’s hair, sweeping the stray strands away from her face to tuck them behind her ear, clipping them in place with the pin.

 

  There’s something serene about Mina’s bare face, no falling hair to mask her worry clouded eyes or make-up to mask her natural beauty, and Sana finds her eyes darting quickly between each and every mole decorating her skin. Her hand lingers, thumb stroking Mina’s temple leisurely, and the younger girl looks up at her sullenly.

 

  “I wish you didn’t have to go.” She whispers gently, tears forming in the bottom of her eyes, and Sana won't cry, she _wont._

 

She simply smiles softly again, both of her hands reaching out to cup her sister’s face tenderly. Mina leans into the touch, Sana feeling the wetness of her tears against her skin and she exhales shakily.

 

  “You know I have to,” she murmurs, leaning forwards to press a kiss to the top of the girls’ head, “it’s to keep everyone safe. For mother and father, for the kingdom - for _you_ especially.”

 

  It had always been this way; Sana protecting Mina with everything her body could offer, and usually more than she could manage. It was part of being the first born, of being an older sister and having someone to protect and call your own. Her father had always told her as such, and Sana had never had reason to doubt him for as long as she could remember.

 

  Sana steps away from Mina briefly, tapping her nose with her fingers in an abrupt reprimand. A frown appears on the younger girls face, and Sana much prefers the brief flash of annoyance over the sadness that had clung to Mina like a wet cloth since she’d learned of the news.

 

  “I thought we agreed not to cry tonight.” Sana chastises fondly, clambering up onto the bed to kneel behind the younger girl. Her fingers begin to thread through black strands, weaving small, intricate patterns into Mina’s hair.

 

  “I’m not crying.”

 

  She snorts, tugs a little too hard on a strand of hair and Mina squeaks in surprise.

 

  “No, of course you’re not,” Sana hums agreeably, fails to suppress a grin from breaking out when she sees Mina cross her arms grumpily, not quite able to hear whatever insult the younger girl muttered under her breath.

 

  “I just, you’re just… you’re leaving.”

 

  Sana swallows thickly, trying not to dwell on the naked honestly lacing her sister’s tone.

 

  “I am.”

 

  Mina sighs heavily, expelling all of the air from her lungs as she withdrew in on herself. Her lips are pursed, as though she’s holding herself back from saying something else, and she clears her throat with a small cough.

 

  “I’m going to miss you annoying me everyday.”

 

  Sana laughs at that, genuine and loud at the heartfelt admittance from the girl in front of her.

 

  “You will?” She questions lightly, smile broadening at the small smile beginning to appear on Mina’s face.

 

  “Of course. Who else is going drag me into her nefarious plans and schemes and get me in trouble? The palace will be awfully boring without you.” Her voice tapers out to a sigh, a dramatic slump of her shoulders that had Sana rolling her eyes.

 

  “I’m sure there’s at least one book you haven’t read in the library to keep you sane. And you have Momo.” She adds as an afterthought, thinking of the friendly kitchen girl who they both befriended as children

 

  “And I have Momo.” Mina echoes softly, hands linking together lazily to rest in her lap.

 

  “Speaking of Momo, do you want to go down to the kitchens?” Sana asks, already moving herself off of the bed to stand expectantly in front of her sister. “I’m feeling a bit hungry.”

 

  “Sana it’s late,” Mina refutes softly, unsurprised when the older girl drags her to her feet, “the guards will just tell father.”

 

  “Minari,” Sana laughs, “you act like we’ve never used the servants passages before.”

 

  Discovering the existence of the servant passages hidden throughout the walls of the castle had been earth shattering for young Sana. Having an equally young, curious kitchen girl by the name of Momo show her how to navigate them and aid her silly antics was just as thrilling and groundbreaking.

 

  “You know I don’t like using the passages.” Mina whines, face burrowing into her sleeve even as she allowed Sana to pull her to the hidden entrance just outside her bedroom door.

 

  Sana reaches out for the half-burnt candle on the dresser, clutching it tightly in one hand and bringing her other up to showcase the other hand firmly linked with Mina’s.

 

  “It’ll be fine,” Sana reassures her, naked flame casting worried shadows across Mina’s tentatively hesitant face, “I’ve got you.” She smiles gently and Mina smiles back, nodding agreeably.

 

  “You always do.” Mina sighs, the sound fond and a little wistful, and Sana grins back victoriously.

 

  They pull open the old, barely used door, shutting it firmly behind them and Sana begins to take confident steps down the narrow passage. She’s done this a hundred times before, and Mina’s fingers clenching her hand tightly feels like every other time. Footsteps echo dully behind them, swallowed by the encroaching darkness only kept at bay by the naked flame threatening to sputter out in Sana’s hand.

 

  It ends all too soon, it always does, but she spies the decrepit wooden door that opens directly into the kitchens, and she gives Mina’s hand a light squeeze. Almost as soon as she drops her sister’s hand to push open the thick door, she feels two fists clench themselves in the fabric of her nightgown, and she smiles unknowingly.

 

  Light floods the dark passage as the door creaks open, spilling over the two girls and Sana feels Mina heave a sigh of relief behind her. They step into the kitchen, shaking off the cold as they’re greeted by a warm draft of air from the constantly burning ovens, the smell of fresh bread hitting their senses.

 

  The room is illuminated with a warm glow, flickering hues of orange highlighting the old, stone walls and showcasing the small figure sat diligently in front of the ovens. She was cross legged, hunched forward and her brows knitted tightly in concentration as her finger traced the words of the book in her hand.

 

  It was a pretty painting; Momo tracing the strokes and lines of new words she had yet to learn with a fingertip, lips moving to test the feel of each word rolling off of her tongue, and Sana felt a small spark of pride ignite somewhere in the depths of her stomach.

 

  It would have been a crime to intrude, to disturb the girl so lost in concentration, but then Sana’s foot kicks a bucket over and the sound shatters the trance like spell Momo had been under.

 

  She startles to her feet, book snapping shut with a loud crack as she turns to face the two girls bashfully.

 

  “Momo, relax. It’s just us.”

 

  The visible relief on the servant girls’face is almost amusing, the apprehension on her face melting away at being caught slacking off.  

 

  The other servant’s had always been far too harsh on the other girl, envy bleeding through into their actions from the apparent favouritism and attention she gained from the two princesses.

 

  (They wouldn’t deny it; they had always had a soft spot for the demure, soft-spoken girl from the kitchens. Perhaps a little too soft.)

 

  “Ah,” Momo replied hesitantly, “you startled me, my lady.”

 

  Sana’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

 

  “How many times do I have to ask you to call me by my name?”

 

  Momo coughed sheepishly.

 

  Sana rolled her eyes, arms folded as her lips jutted out in a pout. It was always like this, even when they were alone it was difficult at best for Momo to relax and not address them by their titles. Sana despised the rigid structural hierarchy that dictated the actions of everyone in this castle - perhaps in another life, they would all find footing on the same ground and meet as equals.

 

  She hoped so.

 

  She notices the moment Momo spies Mina behind her for her gaze lowers to the uneven stone floor, her already submissive posture collapsing in on herself as she tried to appear even smaller than she already did. Her foot dragged nervously against the floor, the sound of cloth sliding against stone accompanying the muted crackle of the flames behind the oven door to fill the room.

 

  Sana tugs Mina forwards, the younger girls hand automatically finding itself in the older’s grasp again.

 

  “We thought that we’d come and keep you some company.” Sana says, noting the gratuitous expression that swept over Momo’s features.

 

  “Ah,” Momo begins with a small, shy chuckle, “you don’t have to, my-“

 

  “But we want to.” Mina speaks up, cutting off the servant girl with softly spoken words.

 

  “We enjoy spending time with you, Momo.”

 

  The older girl flushes a brilliant scarlet, a strip of red riding high on her cheekbones as she nods compliantly.

 

  “Thank you.” She whispers meekly, eyes burning a hole in the floor.

 

  “Momoring,” Sana laughs, crossing the space between them to tug on the sleeve of the older girls tunic. Momo looked up, a shimmering wetness rimming the bottom of her eyes, and Sana felt her heart clench protectively.

 

  “You’ve been like this since we met, you know.” Sana hums fondly, recalling the first time she’d run - quite literally run - straight into the other girl.

 

  She’d been evading her maids, a mischievous ten year old desperate to put off the impending doom of preparing for a formal dinner with foreign nobles, when she’d burst into what she hoped was an empty broom closet. Her hopes were dramatically cut short when she flung herself through the door and directly on top of an equally small body who squeaked in shock as they both tumbled over brooms and buckets to the ground.

 

  She’d had a sore knee for weeks, and she’d gotten into a lot of trouble when the head maid tore open the door to see a wide eyed Sana frantically trying to convince the new servant girl not to cry from the newly formed lump on her head - but Momo had forgiven her with a teary smile and watery, bright eyes.

 

  Sana found herself spending a lot of time in the vicinity of the same broom cupboard for weeks after, waiting and hoping to run into the pretty little servant girl again.

 

  (She did, and it took a while for the understandably nervous girl to talk to her, but Sana had always been very skilled at making people love her.)

 

  “I could say the same for you.” Momo retorts, her voice finally finding some stability as she settles into a familiar, comfortable tempo around the girls.

 

  Mina laughs behind her, and Sana gasps in affronted shock.

 

  “You would talk back to me?”

 

  “I might.” Momo grins shyly, and Sana finds herself mirroring a similar grin back.

 

  It’s easy, all of this. Momo turns away to prepare some food for the girls amidst protests that they were perfectly capable themselves and for her to rest, and Sana finds herself memorising the soft chuckles spilling out from Momo’s lips as she reassures them to sit, to wait for their food. She looks to Mina, finds her sporting a similar expression of blatant, unmasked adoration as Momo’s figure flits spryly around the counters, soft, dark eyes tracing her every movement.

 

  It’s easy.

 

  It must be nearing dawn by now, but their bellies are full of warm bread and their hearts are filled with something just as soft and doughy, and Mina is laughing loudly at Momo’s sly quip about the stable boys’ affair with one of the kitchen maids - her entire body keeling over and she almost falls out of her chair - and Sana’s hand shoots out to steady her, but Momo’s is faster.

 

  She sits back, watches the scene play out in front of her as Momo fusses over her sister and Mina waves off her concern with a slight blush lightly dusting her cheeks, and she forces down the tears that threaten to rise up her throat.

 

  This was home. Here, in this kitchen at a ridiculous hour of the morning with a roaring fire easing away the cold of night and warm hearts easing away the concern weighing heavily in her chest. They would be fine.

 

  She could come home, she realises. It might be years from now - she would be older, a little wiser, age sitting on her features a little heavier. Her parents would seem frailer; they’d have newfound wrinkles and lines etched in their skin that Sana would have missed and they’d move a little slower, more hesitant in their movements but their smiles would be just as loving. Mina would be just as beautiful, maybe even more so because Sana _knows_ time would only ever be kind to someone as effortlessly good as the youngest princess of the East, and Momo would stand a little straighter - perhaps even look her in the eye when she returns and call her by her name to welcome her home.

 

  She makes the silent vow, etches the letters in between the laughter that flowed freely from Mina’s lips, carves the words in the very stone of the floor beneath their feet as sunlight begins to spill through the cracks in the shutters.

 

  It would be years from now, but she will return home.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> shout at me on twt and give me the motivation to write this up because i have everything planned out already lmao, @tiffatologist xox


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